Marty's Spring Break
by LittleMana
Summary: This is a story about Marty’s uneventful spring break. WARNING: Author likes to lie in summaries.
1. The Week Before Vacation

_**Marty's Spring Break**_

_This is a story about Marty's uneventful spring break. WARNING: Author likes to lie in summaries._

Chapter 1 — The Week Before Vacation

It was a cool, crisp April day, and Marty McFly was walking his girlfriend, Jennifer Parker, home. It was also the Friday two weeks before spring break, which brightened the mood somehow. The only problem was that the teachers had already assigned tests _on the day after_ the break, and the students were grumbling about the injustice of it all. To compensate for their stroke of terrible luck, Marty and Jennifer planned to study together sometime during vacation.

Jennifer held up a finger when she sensed that her boyfriend was about to start another rant about the school. "Hold on a sec," she said. "I'm trying to remember something."

Thirty seconds later, she did. "I've got a doctor's appointment for an immunity shot next Monday, so I need you to turn an assignment to Mrs. Rose for me."

Mrs. Rose was Jennifer's English teacher; Marty had her for freshman year. He promised that he would remember.

As some sort of personal way of celebrating, Jennifer reached into her backpack, withdrew a bottle of gooey health drink, and took a hearty swing from it. She offered it to Marty, who drew away politely, shaking his head.

"How do you _stand_ that stuff?" he asked incredulously as he watched her chug a lug the olive, lumpy tar. "If that doctor of yours does a health check on you as well, he'll find you the healthiest and _bravest_ person alive."

She gave him a critical look. "It's not _that_ bad."

"All super healthy foods are nasty. Like raw broccoli. I nearly died eating that stuff as a kid…" He gave her a playful nudge.

"Stop it," she said, grinning.

"You're gonna live forever, Jen," he teased. "You're gonna live till you're a hundred and five, and I'm gonna die young at forty."

"Ahh, the price junk food can pay!" She chuckled into the heavens.

"You're gonna outlive all our kids…"

Jennifer gave Marty a dreamy-eyed look. "Mmm…one day…" she murmured. The two leaned forward to kiss.

They had reached the Parker residence. Jennifer hurried inside and re-emerged with her school assignment. She handed it to Marty, who tucked it safely away in his backpack.

"Yeah, well, good luck on the tests," Jennifer told him, pecking him in the cheek. "See ya later." She made her way up the steps, waving good-bye.

When she closed the door, Marty turned around to make his way to the Browns' house.

--

The Browns were leaving for vacation next Sunday night, and Marty had promised to help Verne, who, perhaps taking after his teen idol, was a notorious procrastinator, pack.

The Browns were going to go to New Jersey to spend some time with Clara's parents. Doc wanted to postpone this time travel excursion to summer break, but Clara was homesick, and the kids wanted to see their old friends again. It was rather soon, the family realized, but kids _did_ grow up rather quickly. However, in order to get to New Jersey and back to Hill Valley in a train that could only puncture the _fourth_ dimension instantaneously, they had to leave town extra early. It was too dangerous to travel in the past, because the airborne train could frighten some animal, sending it fleeing from the spot where it was supposed to be shot by a hunter, starving the hunter and his descendants, and totally wrecking the space time continuum. Marty pointed out that meeting Clara's parents could change history as well, but Doc reasoned that in that case they would have a good idea when and where the change in history occurred, rather than scrutinizing their entire route from California to New Jersey to pinpoint the disturbance. To take his kids out from school early, Doc drew up a note that said that their aunt Cecelia Klein had passed away recently, and that they had to attend her funeral.

_Cecelia Klein_. _Klein_ was the word Marty honed in on. Was she the mother of the young Calvin Klein, the boy who helped George and Lorraine fall in love and marry?

After a brief discussion with Doc, Marty found that his hypothesis was correct. Sometime during the 1960's, Lorraine saw Doc in a grocery store and asked how his nephew Calvin was doing. Doc ad-libbed the vague story of how Calvin had moved back to Canada with his mother, making up the name Cecelia Klein on the spot. Cecelia, as imaginary family trees went, was Doc's older sister. However, the two were not close due to divergent interests.

Doc went on to add that he had already used the DeLorean to scout the route that they were going to take from Hill Valley to New Jersey, and that they were all well prepared for their excursion through time.

Marty was glad that he wasn't going anywhere for spring break.

Verne had hardly packed _at all_, so he and Marty spent a couple of hours filling the suitcase with clothes, games, and homework. In the meantime, the two shared the most interesting conversation, which follows.

"Hey Marty. When you have kids, can I marry your daughter?" Verne asked.

Marty stopped short. "I dunno about that. I'd have to ask her. But it _may_ take a while, considering that she hasn't been born yet…"

"I bet she's really cute," the kid continued, with a faraway look in his eyes. "She'll be just as nice as you are, too. She can cook all my meals…"

A small smile spread across Marty's face. "How old are you?"

Verne blinked. "Six."

"Right. And I won't have kids for fifteen years or so," Marty pointed out.

The kid gave him a critical look. "So?"

"Well, in fifteen years, how old will you be?"

Verne gagged. "What?! No! That's not fair! You know I can't add well!" He stamped his foot angrily. "_Marty!_" he whined.

The teen rolled his eyes. He grabbed the kid's shoulders, ordering him to calm down. The six-year-old, fuming, obeyed reluctantly.

"Six plus fifteen is twenty-one," said Marty matter-of-factly. "So when I have kids, you'll be twenty-one years old."

"And?" Verne wanted to know impatiently.

"And? And you'll be too old for her," Marty concluded. "'Cause when my daughter is one, you'll be…what? Twenty-two?"

The kid bristled. "So?" he demanded. "I don't care! I still want to marry her."

Marty gave up. "All right. Do what you want."

The child brightened. "So does that mean I can?"

The teen sighed. "You'll just have to ask her yourself," he said tiredly.

Verne pouted. "I bet she'll say yes. 'Cause I'm so nice! I'll be a good husband! There's no way she'll say no." He grinned proudly.

Marty rubbed his forehead, exasperated.

Twenty minutes later, the pair was dusting their hands off proudly. Verne marched away to proclaim to his father how he did all his packing _by himself_, while Marty dragged himself wearily behind. Doc gave Marty an appreciative smile, which was returned with a weak thumbs up. He was about say something when somebody clamored down the stairs.

"Hi Marty," Jules said, hanging on the rail.

"Hey, sport." Marty nodded to him.

"Excuse me." Doc brushed the teen aside and went on his way.

"What's up?" Marty asked Jules.

Jules bit his lip. "You're gonna take care of my pets while we're gone, right?"

The teen took a step forward. "Yeah. Mind if I go to your room and see what you've got?"

"I've got a mouse and a fish," the kid replied, starting up the stairs. He glanced behind him to make sure that Marty was following him. "Andy and Peter."

He eased open the door to his room. Jules strode inside, while Marty tiptoed behind him. There wasn't a lot of space with two people, a large bed, a bookself, a fishbowl on a table, a mouse cage, and a mountain of pet supplies in one room.

The kid introduced Marty to Andy the mouse and Peter the goldfish. He went on to explain how to clean and feed them properly. Andy didn't like cheese, and Peter didn't like too much fish food. And under no circumstances should Andy be let of his cage! Marty joked that Peter shouldn't be let out of his bowl either, but Jules only gave him a bewildered look.

The kid gazed at the mouse, which was clawing at the bars of its cage. "I like to clean the cage and the bowl every day, but you don't have to. You don't have to feed Einstein, but I think Dad wants you to walk him once in a while."

Marty got on his knees and took a closer look at the circling goldfish. It gave him a wide-eyed look and turned its tail to him.

"I want to get a bird," Jules said absentmindedly. "But there's no room, and Mom won't let me. She says I've got too many animals already."

"Yeah…" the teenager agreed absently. He looked at the kid and gave him a small smile.

"Are you excited to meet your grandparents for the first time?" he asked conversationally. Jules shrugged.

Marty tried a different question. "How's it like to get out of school a week early?"

"It's okay," the boy said lamely.

Further questions were answered with shrugs and vague noises. Finally, Marty glanced at his watch and realized that had to go. Jules waved goodbye as Marty exited the room and headed down the stairs.

--

It was Monday. Marty was shouldering his way through the crowded halls; his eyes focused on the teacher's lounge. He struggled through the human storm and eventually made it to the door…only to find that it was locked. Cursing his luck, Marty threaded his way to the ever so far away parking lot.

He neatly skipped around the exiting cars, glancing left and right. Students and staff members alike were in a hurry to get home and do some work/get some sleep/study/grade papers. He spotted the top of Mrs. Rose's brown curly hair over her blue Sedan. He dashed forward, thinking that she was unlocking the door. But she didn't seem to be facing the right way…

In the very first day of Marty's freshman English class, Mrs. Rose launched into a long story about how she was adopted many times during her life, living most of it in Sacramento, and how she took up smoking, drinking, and doing drugs to get away from the pain of feeling unwanted. She eventually turned herself around, but never gave up her habit of smoking. Though it was against the rules to smoke on high school grounds, more than once students caught her hiding out somewhere sneaking in the illegal cigarette.

Marty had a sneaking suspicion that she was doing just that. He was behind her now. She wasn't smoking; she was talking to another student. Marty was waiting patiently behind the two, when the student paused and glanced past her. His and Marty's eyes locked.

The two teens froze.

"Marty…?" Mrs. Rose began and started to glance behind her. But Marty was already up and running. The student brushed past her, muttering a hurried apology.

Marty's heart raced as he broke school records for dashing across the parking lot, into the street, and off school grounds. He pressed himself against the shady wall of a large condo, gasping heavily. Angry curse words paraded through his mind.

It took him a good thirty seconds to gather himself together. He took a slow, deep breath, adjusted his collar, wiped the sweat off his brow, and mussed up his hair. He then took a confident, but casual, step away from the condo and around the corner, pasting a neutral expression on his face.

And stopped.

"The _hell?_" he muttered, cautiously stepping around the DeLorean. He couldn't help circling it and surveying the damage. One side of it—the right side, precisely—was smashed, as if it had collided with something narrow, or had just clipped it. The headlight and side door were crumpled; the entire car seemed to lean to one side. The spider web cracks in the window made it impossible to look inside the car from that side.

"Looks pretty bad, huh?"

Marty jumped, heart racing. The student eyed him wearily.

"You're not going to run off again, are you?" he asked. "Because I'm…I'm beat. Seriously." He wiped his forehead and exhaled loudly.

Marty made a series of frustrated gestures.

"You! _You!_" He was indignant. "People might _see! _Get the hell out of here!"

The teen, unfazed, instead said, "You want to know what's going on?"

Marty glared at him for a few moments, his eyes briefly flickering from him to his fellow classmates, who continued to stream from the high school into the streets. The student didn't budge, giving him an intense look. Their silent showdown only lasted a few seconds; the student finally won when Marty's shot out nerves forced him to nod.

The student stepped forward and unlatched the gull wing door. Marty hopped back to avoid getting hit.

"Hop in," said the second Marty.

**LittleMana**: Hello, all! That's the end of Chapter 1! I would like to thank Flaming Trails for partially inspiring this fic--over a year ago. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I've just been procrastinating too much. I'm not actually done, you know, but if you guys review or PM me enough, I might finish the last three chapters in a semi-timely manner. In the mean time, hope you all like!


	2. Who Are You?

Chapter 2 — Who Are You?

"Who are you?" Marty demanded as soon as he slid into the passenger seat. "You can't be my future self, because I know that I'm not damned stupid enough to harass…myself!"

"You're right. I'm not." The second Marty slammed the door shut. "Do you know where we can hide the DeLorean?"

Regular Marty fumed. "_Yes. _But_ who – are — you – ?_"

"You. But not you," the teen answered smoothly. "I'm from an alternate universe."

"An alternate _what?_"

"See the damage out there?" He indicated the crushed side of the car. "I think I hit something I hit 88—I think it was a corner of a lamp pole or something—, so I messed up flux dispersal. Not only am I in the wrong year, but in the wrong dimension!"

Marty's head spun. "You're not from Hill Valley?"

The teen gave him a significant look. "I am, but a different one. There are some minor differences. Take JFK Drive, for example."

Marty frowned. "What about it?" he asked.

"There's no house there," he said simply, though the statement merely confused his alternate self. The teen placed both hands on the steering wheel. "We should get going."

The streaming high school students had thankfully not seen the two Martys, but they couldn't simply glance past a partly crushed DeLorean covered with strange wires and doohickeys without taking a second look. The alternate Marty threw the car into drive, and the two were on their way.

Regular Marty examined him carefully. What the heck was going on? What was an alternate universe anyway? However, the other teenager didn't seem to be in the mood to talk, so two sat in a tense silence for the majority of their ride.

——

"Are you sure this is a safe place to hide the time machine?" Alternate Marty looked doubtful. "It _is_ right next to Burger King…"

Regular Marty placed his hands on his hips, surveying the place carefully. "No one wants to come to this dump," he said with a snort.

The other still didn't seem convinced. He slammed the DeLorean's door closed.

"No, it seems like an okay place," he mused, strolling around the garage casually. "I guess this is where I'll be staying?"

"You what?" Marty replied, bewildered. He suddenly flushed, realizing that his alternate self certainly couldn't live at _his_ house. He felt like an idiot for calling the garage a dump.

Alternate Marty bent down to examine something low in the wall. "I might as well. I still have to fix the car."

"_You're_ going to?" Regular Marty raised an eyebrow, but his double either didn't hear or simply ignored him.

"I'm gonna go hop over to my house and bring back some stuff over here," he amended. "Just so you know, there's no running water or any electricity in here…"

Alternate Marty glanced out the window. "I guess I can buy some food next door." He was looking at Burger King. "I'm pretty sure they've got bathrooms there as well…"

"Right then. Okay. I'll be back in a while." Regular Marty made his leave. He locked the gate and raced down the street. At his house, he threw a flashlight, sleeping bag, a pillow, some food, extra clothes, and other miscellaneous items into his truck. After chucking a vague excuse to his oblivious parents (though Lorraine caught on a moment later, and was about to protest), Marty roared out of the house.

His journey between the garage to his home and back gave him time to think. The possibility of a double, perhaps _many _doubles, falling into his world worried him. Multiple Martys roaming around Hill Valley, possibly exposing the existence of time machines to the rest of the world…

The very _existence_ of them unnerved him.

An alternate reality, huh? What was _that_ like? How often did stuff like this happen? Was it plausible that, he, Marty McFly, might take the time machine one day and end up in an alternate world?

He _had_, in fact…

Marty's eyes widened and he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. _1985A!_ God knows he desperately wanted to forget that awful place. Where _had_ this alternate Marty come from exactly? What was _his_ world like? What was the difference between the two of them? Interests? Dreams? Tastes in music? Foods? Friends? Girlfriends? It gave him a kick to think how one of the girls in the hall could possibly be his girlfriend in a different world…

Marty parked the truck and hopped out into the chilly air. It was time to ask more questions.

——

"So what are you doing here in the first place?" Marty asked his other self. They had finished the tricky business of moving things from the truck and into the garage (after all, there was only _one_ Marty McFly in the world, and no one was supposed to be in the garage anyway), and were rearranging them about the big dusty space.

"I didn't mean to. It was on accident," he replied.

"No, I mean…" Regular Marty shook his head. "What were you doing traveling through time?"

His alternate self gave him a tried look. "Long story," he told him. "No offense, but I don't really feel like talking about it right now."

Regular Marty blinked, taken aback. He tried a different approach.

"You're supposed to be me, right?" he began. "You look a bit older, though."

"I'm twenty-one. And you must be seventeen," alternate Mary added before his counterpart could say anything more. "I'm a college student."

Marty swallowed hard. "Where?" he squeaked.

"University of San Diego. Chemistry major. I'm trying to become a professor." He glanced at Marty. "What do you want to do?" A spark of curiosity was in his eyes as well.

The corner of regular Marty's mouth twitched. "Music, hopefully. Play the guitar. Perform, I guess." He blinked. "Seriously? A professor?"

Alternate Marty had an expression on his face that clearly asked, "_What's wrong with that?_".

"You really _are_ from an alternate universe," the high school student breathed.

The older Marty snorted with laughter. They talked more and more animatedly after that, their topics ranging from foods, pastimes, vacations, friends, to girlfriends.

"How did you get this place, anyway?" alternate Marty asked at one point, motioning to the newly furnished garage.

"It used to be Doc's," the other explained. He went on to mention how it belonged to the state, but how he still had the keys.

Alternate Marty didn't seem interested with the last part. "Doc?" he asked instead.

The other gave him a surprised look. "You don't know him?"

The college student shook his head.

Marty whooped with laughter. "How'd you get a time machine, then? You built it yourself?" he teased.

Alternate Marty gave looked startled. "_I_ didn't build it. I _helped_ build it. I just did what my dad told me to."

Regular Marty snorted with laughter. "_Dad?_ _Seriously?_" He toyed with the idea of him and George McFly tinkering with a DeLorean and creating a flaming trail producing time machine.

Alternate Marty was faintly amused. "What? Your father is not as talented in this world?"

"Well…I think he'd write about it more than actually do it," the other admitted.

Alternate Marty looked thoughtful. "A writer, huh?" A smile tugged at his lips.

Regular Marty nodded. "What does your dad do?"

"He's a professor at the university," he replied.

Regular Marty whistled. "Boy, I'd better get you to Doc. He wouldn't _believe_ this. Doc! Damn! I forgot. He left already."

Alternate Marty frowned rather crossly. "What's wrong with my father being a professor? And who is this Doc person, anyway? Is he your friend?"

"Yeah, he's my friend. I don't believe this. You don't know Doc? You know, Doctor Brown? First name Emmett?" He raised an eyebrow. "What? Why are you looking that me that way?"

"You call him Doc?" Alternate Marty had a strange look on his face.

"Yes…" regular Marty replied slowly. "What do _you_ call him?"

"I call him Dad," he replied simply.

**LittleMana**: Err, how was it? Still want me to continue? Oh, and Flaming Trails...I hope now you can see how one of your stories inspired this one. Ha ha ha...


	3. The Switch

Chapter 3 — The Switch

"_D-Dad?!_" He couldn't believe it.

Alternate Marty slowly nodded, looking a little puzzled. "I'm Martin Brown," he added, watching his double with concern.

Regular Marty blanched.

"_Brown?!_ Holy _shit!_" He stalked away, grabbing at his hair in shock. "_Brown…you're Martin Brown…you're Doc's _son_…_"

A bead of sweat appeared on Martin B's forehead. "What's your name, then?"

Marty M told him, continuing to pace shakily.

The color drained from Martin B's face. "_McFly?_" His eyes widened. "George McFly is _alive_…?" His voice cracked at the end of this question.

Marty M nodded stiffly.

"Oooh…I gotta sit down." Martin B flopped on the floor, looking pale. His double continued to let out a string of curse words as he circled the garage.

"Damn! Damn. Damn," he chanted. "Da—" To distract himself momentarily, he glanced at his watch.

"_Shit!_" he yelped. "Mom's gonna kill me!" He made a break for his car, but skid to a stop when he noticed Martin B still sitting on the ground.

"You okay?" he asked, concerned.

The college student still looked pale. "Jus' give me a coupla seconds…" he muttered.

"What is it?" The younger Marty looked worried.

"I dunno. I wanna meet him, that's all…"

"Who? Dad?" said regular Marty. "I…I dunno. Maybe I can do something…"

The older Marty said nothing. The younger Marty advised him to lay low before ducking out of the garage and, after taking a short detour to the Browns' to keep the pets fed and happy, heading on home.

——

Tuesday. Behind Jennifer's back, Marty managed to hand in his girlfriend's assignment to Mrs. Rose without a late penalty. Sometimes, Marty figured that Jennifer was too paranoid about turning things in on time, and that she underestimated her teachers' kindness.

It was right after school, and Marty rapped on the gate to the garage. "Martin!" he hissed as loudly as he dared. "Open up!"

There was a distant rustle and a whisper of a "Great Scott!". Marty frowned. Had he heard correctly?

A harassed looking Martin Brown hurried out of the garage, fumbling with the keys. He shakily unlocked the gate and allowed the other inside.

"You scared me," he explained, noticing Marty M's perplexed expression. "I didn't know that it was so late already…"

Although he was looking much better than he had the day before, Marty M figured that his supposedly sudden arrival wasn't the _only_ thing that bothered Martin B…

"About yesterday," said college Marty suddenly. The other looked at him in surprise. "Do you have a plan?"

The younger Marty nodded slowly. "Yeah. But are you sure?"

"If I don't do it now, I might chicken out later," he replied honestly.

Marty M didn't know whether or not the use of the word 'chicken' was intentional. Before he could go into detail on his plan, however, he noticed something odd about the DeLorean.

"Doesn't look like you did anything," he commented, gesturing to the time vehicle.

"I haven't," the other agreed.

"Then what did you—"

Regular Marty's eyes landed on a spread of carefully stacked and positioned Burger King packages on the floor. He cautiously stepped toward it.

"Did you…?" he began. He squinted at it. It seemed to be a model of some sort, like a town made of Legos…except the Legos were replaced with garbage.

Martin B dusted his hands off proudly. "Yeah. I found the stuff from the dumpster. I didn't have the materials to build it to scale or to pai—"

"Holy _shit!_" regular Marty exclaimed suddenly, leaping into the air. He got to his knees and examined the model at eye level. "This is _Hill Valley?_" He was incredulous.

"Roughly speaking," the college student grunted. "It's a little crude, but it was the best I could do."

Regular Marty circled the model, breathing curse words and shakily running his fingers through his hair. He gave his double a wide-eyed look.

"You really _are_ Doc's son!"

Alternate Marty raised an eyebrow.

Reminded of their previous topic, younger Marty laid out his plan for his counterpart to absorb and understand. It was simple, really, but a person who didn't know anything about the McFly house would be slightly confused.

Marty M examined the model for a few more moments to let his alternate self ponder what they were about to do. "What's the diagnosis with the DeLorean?" he asked finally, though his eyes were still on the arrangement of Burger King boxes.

Alternate Marty shrugged. "There isn't much I can do. I've got to send it to the mechanic for repairs. But I can't leave the time circuits on the car."

Regular Marty glanced at the car worriedly. "And you might need some serious cash, too." He felt his heart sink. Where were they going to get that kind of money?

"Don't worry. I've got enough with me," the other reassured him. He looked a little pale as he said so. Regular Marty was about to ask how when the other interrupted, "Do you have the blueprints for the time circuits?"

Regular Marty, though somewhat taken aback, shook his head.

"Do you know where they could be?"

The other figured that they would be crammed in the file cabinets in Doc's study.

A few more minutes of light conversation passed before Marty M glanced at his watch and declared that it was time to go.

——

Martin B clenched and unclenched his hands nervously. He was standing in front of the McFly house, and had spent several good seconds examining it. He noted that it had a good paint job, clean windows, and a rather nice garden. Though it wasn't very large, he felt incredibly small standing there. A bead of sweat appeared on his forehead, which he hastily wiped away.

_Get a hold of yourself Brown,_ he reassured himself._ This isn't so bad. You landed in the wrong time and dimension, but you got what you wanted, didn't you? This isn't as bad as…an exam…_

But he was just fooling himself, and he knew it. This was a million times worse than any exam that he had ever taken it. Just a couple of steps…

It wasn't that Dr. Emmett L. Brown was a bad father. By the time Martin was orphaned, Dr. Brown had already accepted the fact that he was to live the rest of his life alone—as a bachelor or otherwise, so it took his sister (Martin B's aunt) a lot of prodding, goading, and begging to take the young boy in. Considering the circumstances, the scientist did a phenomenal job of raising a child that wasn't his own. But the reasons _why_ Cecelia desperately wanted her brother to take Martin in were clouded as of late—

He pushed those dark thoughts away as he opened the door. "Mom! I'm home!" he announced as loudly as he dared. He felt a sudden thrill rush through him. _Mom._

His eyes scanned the bright house. To his surprise, it was well furnished, clean, and orderly. He thought that the neat exterior of house was just a mask to conceal the ugliness within.

"Hi, Marty!" croaked a woman from another room.

Martin B hesitated for a moment before padding into the kitchen and approaching her. Good, clean, modern clothes, he observed. Nicely styled hair. Young looking skin…

Lorraine McFly, who was turned away from him, chopped some vegetables diligently.

"How was school?" she asked politely, not looking at him.

It took him a while to find his voice. "Fine," he whispered hoarsely. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Fine!"

Water bubbled merrily in a soup pot on the stove. Lorraine plopped some freshly cut carrots and onions inside.

"You're not going to stay out late like you did yesterday, are you?" A hint of warning was in her voice.

Martin B promised her that he wouldn't. He glanced at the pot.

"What are you making?" He gestured to the stew.

"Vegetable soup. Be a dear and pass me the salt, please?"

Panic swept over him for a moment, for he feared that he would have to dig through the mysterious cabinets to retrieve some. Gratefully, he found the salt-shaker sitting on the counter near him, so he passed it to her.

He watched silently as she continued to prepare that night's meal. He watched her loving hands chop up some more vegetables, and then drop them into the pot. Part of him felt relieved, but most of him felt hurt and betrayed. He wanted what he was seeing to be true, but he didn't at the same time. She was everything he imagined, but he suddenly found himself wishing that she would be an ugly smoker, hung over from the latest alcoholic charade, cursing at her youngest son—

"Where's Dad?" he asked suddenly.

"The study, probably," Lorraine told him. She faced him, and with a shock Martin B realized how much they looked alike. It was like he was looking at a long lost sister.

"Sorry. I need to get…" She stretched her arm past him and fumbled with a cabinet door. The college student hastily stepped away.

"Um…I'll see you later, then. At dinner." He made his speedy retreat.

Under the impression that he didn't really belong there, he delicately tiptoed across the household. He nearly fainted from shock when he bumped into a young lady he had never seen before—but yet they looked so _similar_!—who was hustling out from another room.

"Watch it, buster!" she squawked unceremoniously. She stormed past him, a dark expression clouding her face. He watched her go curiously.

"Greg's dumped her again," said a newcomer. Martin B jumped. It was a gray suited young man, who also looked like a McFly. The man sounded apologetic. "Same time next week, the phone line's gonna be all tied up," he predicted ominously. "Those two will be arguing and making up at the same time. Dad's gonna go through the roof when he sees the phone pill this month…"

"Uhh…you? Her…" Martin B flustered, glancing at the man and the retreating back of the young woman. The man raised an eyebrow.

"Where's…where's Dad?" he finished finally.

The man grunted, "The study," and retreated back into his room. Martin B darted past him and quietly slid into the study of George McFly.

He knew that it must've been study because there were bookshelves overflowing with novels, magazines, and videotapes and a large desk cluttered with paper and writing materials inside. The real clincher was George himself sitting behind that desk, furiously scribbling something on another piece of paper. He was dressed in casual, light clothing; stuff one might wear on a walk to the park. His hair was oiled and slicked neatly to one side. He was skinny and slight, but had a number of lean muscles.

"Hey…Dad," Martin B began conversationally. He winced—it felt odd calling another man 'Dad'. "What are you writing?"

"Ohh…just notes," he replied vaguely. He paused writing and looked up at his 'son'. "How was school?"

"All right." He tried to shrug casually, but his shoulders creaked stiffly. His 'father' didn't seem to notice.

"How's Jennifer?" he asked.

"Who—" Martin B nearly bit his tongue to stop himself. In flash, he remembered his other self mentioning her during his rant about girlfriends. "She's great," he finished.

George was about to say something else when a hidden phone rang, startling both of them. The writer calmly swept aside the junk on his desk and smoothly picked it up. After the traditional "Hello?", he held it to his ear for a few moments before speaking further. Martin B didn't pay attention to _what_ he was saying—he didn't know to whom or about what he was speaking anyway—but rather to his tone of voice. What he heard unnerved him.

George seemed to be arguing with someone. After a few tense minutes, the exasperated writer set down the phone and apologized for the interruption.

"Something smells good downstairs," he said, smiling. "What's Lorraine cooking?"

Martin B could hardly stop looking at his father. That voice could only come from a man who was assertive and unafraid. There was no doubt in his decisions, no uncertainty in his actions. His biological father was the complete opposite of a spineless wimp. He was proud, successful, brave...

But it was wrong, all wrong!

A perplexed expression appeared on George's face. Martin B snapped to attention, remembering that his 'father' had just asked a question.

"Soup? Uhh…vegetable soup?" he said quickly, his heart racing. "I…gotta go," he said, gesturing wildly and skipping out of the office. He disappeared into his room—or what he supposed to be his, because it had posters of rock stars hanging on the walls and a lot of trash covering the floor. Hopping delicately over items that appeared fragile or costly, Martin B made his way to the unmade bed. He threw himself on the covers, rolled over on his back, and stared at the ceiling, reflecting on the events that had just occurred.

For the next couple hours, he pretended to do his homework, and, armed with questions from various subjects, sneaked in brief conversations with his long lost parents. He found more and more proof for the concept that he dreaded: that his parents were not losers.

The young man and woman, he discovered, were David and Linda McFly, Marty's siblings. They were also rather well off—David was holding down a decent office job, and Linda…well…Linda had a lot of dramatic boyfriend problems. Or boyfriends problems, since she had several. But it was good to know that she was popular, one way or another, among her schoolmates. Martin B figured that she must do relatively well in college as well, because she had difficult looking textbooks (though currently in disarray) spread out over her desk.

Five-thirty. Dinner time. Martin B kept as quiet as possible, answering questions vaguely and not asking any of his own. Like an alligator sitting silently in the water, he merely watched and observed. Lorraine wanted to have a tea party with her old high school friends sometime that month. Linda was having relationship troubles. David needed a haircut. George's publisher was an asshole.

Seven o' clock. Martin B struggled with the electric guitar. The speaker's volume was turned to the lowest it could go before becoming silent altogether. His fingers awkwardly slipped over the strings, the notes stumbling over each other. He shifted his left hand uncertainly, applying various degrees of pressure with each finger. He gave up twenty frustrated minutes later, laying the guitar to rest. He then picked through the literature on the shelves, where he found that one of the books was actually empty!

At seven-thirty, somebody was rapping on the window. It was Marty M. Martin B unlocked and opened it, and Marty M, looking woebegone, passed him a clutter of papers.

"Here," he said tiredly. "I got the blueprints."

Martin B raised an eyebrow as he gathered the papers in his arms. "I thought there was a lock," he said.

The other shrugged. "Let's just say I guessed the code," he said mysteriously.

Marty M struggled into the room, and his alternate self hurried out. Regular Marty watched his counterpart, who cursed as he crept away, dissolve into the darkness. He closed the window.

Regular Marty let out a sigh of relief. He then surveyed the spread of homework on his bed and realized, to his amusement, that it was already completed.

**LittleMana**: Please be kind to me and review. I love them so.


	4. The Difference

Chapter 4 — The Difference

Wednesday. Martin B kept stubbornly vague regarding his experience with the McFlys. He seemed a tad disappointed, but Marty M couldn't blame him. George and Lorraine McFly were nowhere near the geniuses Doc was. The news that his alternate self did not have any siblings shocked him. With a bit of prying, regular Marty discovered that alternate Lorraine had two miscarriages before having Martin B. Questions here and there were asked; some answers matched, while others didn't. It seemed that the altered fathers weren't the only things that differed between their worlds. Was it, as Martin B suggested, because there were simply very many differences between their worlds, or was it because there was one major difference (that they had yet to identify) that caused all the changes?

However, when Martin B started to talk a little about himself, Marty M was convinced that the difference was the fact that Cecelia Klein existed in Martin B's world.

It was Thursday afternoon. Marty M set his watch so we wouldn't stay too long in the garage; his mother, though she wasn't exactly breathing down his neck, would notice if one of her children came home more than fifteen minutes late.

Martin B was born in 1968 to George and Lorraine McFly, your average Joe and Jane with ambiguous professions. When Martin B's parents were killed in a tragic car accident, Cecelia Brown, Lorraine's friend, insisted that her family take care of him. Of course, there was the normal protest from the remaining McFlys; however, Uncle Milton was in Canada completing his third marriage with a woman who happened to not like children, Aunt Sally was preoccupied with a three-year-old and twin infants, and Uncle Joey was on the run somewhere in America. So when push came to shove, young Martin found himself sailing into the elated Cecelia's arms.

Despite all that effort, it turned out that the crafty woman, who had zero experience with babies and young children, wasn't planning on hanging around and raising Martin during his troublesome years anyway. She checked into college and became a teacher in Wisconsin, and didn't return to Hill Valley until the boy was six years old. Along with her came Robert Klein, her boyfriend, who later married her. Meanwhile, Cecelia's poor brother, conned into raising somebody else's child, struggled through keeping a baby safe in a dangerous, science experiment filled house, and laboring through incessant crying, crazy nights, and whatnot. But there were the cute milestones as well, like learning to walk, talk, and solve his first math problem. In the end, although the bachelor-for-life badly wanted to strangle his sister, the scientist was glad to finally have a son.

Dr. Brown re-obtained his job as a university professor, while his sister applied to Hill Valley High School as an English teacher. Martin B went on to comment how funny it was how two different worlds _that _certain thing in common: both Cecelia and her counterpart, Mrs. Rose, had the same job.

"Hold on a sec," Marty M interrupted, reeling in shock. "Mrs. Rose and Cecelia are _counterparts_?"

"Well, they looked the same…" Martin B began.

"But Mrs. Rose was _adopted_!" regular Marty gasped. The revelation meant something horrible, but he couldn't quite grasp it yet.

"Well, Cecelia was adopted, too," said alternate Marty matter-of-factly. The other looked shocked.

"But I thought—" He cut himself off, deep in thought. "I thought Cecelia and Doc were related," he said finally.

Alternate Marty was about to explain when regular Marty's watch beeped. The pair groaned.

The story would have to wait until tomorrow.

Friday. The homework that Martin B had finished was returned, graded and corrected, to Marty M, whose jaw dropped in shock. His counterpart was a freaking _genius_! Either high school homework was a piece of cake for a college student, or having Doc for a father made the boy incredibly intelligent. But then again, it could've been a little of both.

It made Marty M feel rather bad.

He had meant to tell Jennifer all about his adventures with his alternate self after the fiasco was over, but recently he had had his doubts. He didn't think that Jennifer would appreciate it if he kept something like this from her, so he resolved to tell her…eventually. The opportunity never arose, especially now since looking at her face made him think of the shiny 'minus zero' on his calculus paper. It was no secret that Jennifer was smarter than he was. How would she react when she saw a more intellectual version of him? It was stupid reasoning, he knew…but he just couldn't do it. He kept his mouth shut and hoped that the issue wouldn't bite him in the butt later.

It was after school, and Marty M was in the garage, eagerly waiting for his alternate self to continue the story. Martin B was looking a little worse for wear—he smelled a little strange and had brown and black stains all over his clothes. High school Marty made a note to sneak him back home so he could somehow take a shower.

"Cecelia being adopted," he prompted when his filthy alternate self asked where he had left off.

"Oh right," Martin B said absentmindedly. "She was sent to the orphanage when she was ten; her mother went to jail and her father ran off. She was adopted by my father's aunt and uncle. Then she went to Hill Valley high and met Lorraine. That's all there is to it," he concluded.

"So when did she meet D—your father?" Marty M asked, perplexed.

"She lived with him," his other self explained.

"But I thought he was raised by his parents."

Alternate Marty frowned, confused. "They died, didn't they?"

"Yeah…" regular Marty said slowly. "But not until Doc was already an adult, and had moved away from home."

The other paled. "Then that means…Great Scott!" he gasped, and his counterpart couldn't help but grin. An aghast look was in Martin B's eyes.

"Go on," high school Marty urged impatiently, and the story of alternate Doc began.

Alternate Doc didn't really remember his parents, who, like Martin B's, died in an unfortunate car accident. Doc spent his early life with his aunt and uncle, who moved into their late relatives' mansion in JFK Drive. There, life for young Doc proceeded as normal; he skipped a couple of grades and did rather eccentric things around the house, blowing up things and creating odd gizmos. Doc's uncle and aunt never had children, so they raised their nephew as their own. When Doc moved out to college the two felt lonely, so they started working for the Salvation Army and the Red Cross. Eventually, after doing so much charity work, they decided to adopt a feisty teenager named Cecelia Fairbanks to further heal society. Cecelia attended Hill Valley High and befriended Lorraine Baines. From that point, the story jumped ahead to when Cecelia convinced the McFlys to hand the orphaned Martin over to the Browns.

"Mrs. Rose lived in Sacramento most of her life," Marty M said, thinking hard. "That means she never met my mom when she was young…"

"Different city, different life," the older Marty stated matter-of-factly. "If my father's parents hadn't died so early, then Cecelia would have been adopted by someone else, like she did in your world. Is that the difference, then?"

"What is?" The answer was hovering just beyond Marty M's reach.

"The time when my father's parents died."

"You mean Doc's parents? Uhh, I dunno. Maybe." High school Marty scratched his head. There was something missing, but he didn't remember what it was, yet.

College Marty nodded. "Maybe," he echoed. Regular Marty's watched beeped, so while his alternate self got up, tiptoed around scattered time circuits, and made his way to the DeLorean, regular Marty reluctantly headed outside.

Saturday.

The younger Marty eyed the car. "When'd you get the time machine?"

Martin B rapped the car's hood, thinking hard. "A few months ago," he said finally. "I mean, in the beginning of 1989. It's all been good, no problems or nothing."

"Really?" Marty M raised an eyebrow, and had half a mind to tell his alternate self all about his 1955 experiences. However, he decided to keep it to himself, because as impressive as George and Lorraine were, what Martin B had seen were their _improved_ selves. Therefore, when it was his turn to talk about himself, he solely described his 'improved' life.

On a side note, when regular Marty tentatively tried again to find out what his alternate self was doing traveling around in he time machine in the first place, his other self told him gently that he still didn't want to talk about it. Marty M, disappointed, figured that the other might have taken the machine illegally and pulled a stunt similar to his in January-May. Reminded of this hectic adventure, younger Marty entertained his older self with this story. In return, Martin B recounted a college mishap.

"It was my freshman year, and I was living in the dorm," he began. "I had a lot of Pepsi in the refrigerator, but somebody kept stealing them. So, to catch the thief, I slipped a certain chemical in the drinks to turn the drinker's pee blue. It wasn't dangerous," he added, spotting the other Marty's shocked expression. "I slipped it into the cans, and the next day Alan from down the hall came running to my medical-student roommate and told him that his pee had turned a funny color. My roommate told him to stay away from carbonated drinks, and my Pepsi's have remained in the refrigerator where they _should_ be ever since."

The watch seemed the screech along with regular Marty's laughter.

Sunday passed uneventfully, and Monday would have as well had Martin B not sent the DeLorean to the mechanics and requested that he hang out at the McFly's to pass the time. (Sitting around in the lonely garage 24/7 wasn't the most thrilling thing in the world.) After a bit of debate, regular Marty agreed; who was he to keep his alternate self bored during vacation? The plan was thus: he, Marty M, would work around town in the library, practice his guitar with the band, work at the library, and such, while Martin B remained at home, watching television and/or pretending to do homework. That way, Marty M wouldn't be killed if he got home late, and Martin B would remain occupied.

All went well. And then, Wednesday came.

**LittleMana**: And then the plot takes a highly unexpected turn. I'd better finish writing the last chapters, or I might get BACKED UP. Thought I updated slowly? I could be slower.


	5. Future Girl

Chapter 5 — Future Girl

It was hard not to stare at the woman wearing bell-bottoms, an oversized tie-dye shirt, and a mini backpack. What was she _thinking_? Did she even know what decade she was in? Marty had never seen her in any of his classes or anywhere, so he figured that she might've been some odd traveler from some loony town far away (like Los Angeles). However, Marty fervently wished that he hadn't stopped and stared at her, because the woman locked eyes with him.

Her large mouth opened in shock, disbelief blossoming over her face. She rubbed her eyes and blinked wildly. Then, much to Marty's dismay, she started striding toward him. Alarmed, the teenager briefly considered running away right that minute.

He was soon standing in the lanky, fashion sense-less lady's shadow. "Marty?" she inquired hopefully, her voice much higher than Marty presumed.

He felt as if something inside him started in shrink. He resolutely focused his eyes on her brown eyebrows, though he had to crane his neck upward considerably to do so.

"Yes?" he said politely.

The woman furtively glanced left and right. Then, she took a deep breath and whispered, "I'm from the future."

Marty managed to keep a neutral expression, although his body tensed up.

"Meaning what?" He tried to sound casual, though he was checking for other people through his peripheral vision as he spoke.

"We shouldn't talk here," she said instead, starting to inch away. "Come on." She turned around and broke into a trot. Marty hesitated, glanced at the library, and reluctantly followed her. They stopped at the corner of the most deserted section of parking lot.

"I'm glad I found you," she breathed, beaming, once Marty caught up with her. "I didn't want to stay here too long."

"Er, when you mean from the future," Marty began awkwardly, "Do you mean…?"

"Flux capacitor," she supplied.

Marty let out a whoosh of air. "All right. Just checking. What are you doing here? I didn't die, did I?"

She gave him a faint smile. "No. I just need to talk to you." She wrung her hands nervously, a frustrated expression clouding her face. There was a brief pause.

Marty stared at her blankly. "About…"

"Ohh, I don't know how to say it!" She closed her eyes for longer than a blink as she frowned. "I want to talk to you about something, but I don't want to give too much away about the future. But seeing as it is, I don't really have a choice." She fixed her eyes to the sky. "You see, it's about your son."

Marty blinked. What could be the problem _now_? But he remained anxiously silent.

"MJ—I mean, Marty Junior—is a sound guy and I'm a journalist," the woman began hesitantly. "The two of us have been going out for the past five years. So we were thinking that…well, we want to get married. We went over to your house and broke the news to you, but unfortunately you didn't take it very well. You were rather angry, actually." She gulped. "So I thought, well, maybe if I gave him—you—a little more time to think it over, then you would have a better reaction. What better way to do it than to go back in time a little and let you take it in then—now?" She reddened. "And here I am…"

Marty frowned. "Who are you?" he asked, eyeing her critically.

"Tiffany." She almost seemed sheepish about it.

"Tiffany," Marty repeated flatly. "Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

She looked fairly alarmed. "No," she said quickly.

"No premature deaths or life-destroying decisions?" he pressed.

Tiffany suddenly looked greatly relieved. "No."

Marty eyed her oddly. "So you came here to talk about marrying my son."

She nodded.

"Then I'm assuming Doc didn't let you take the time machine? I mean, you stole it," he clarified, addressing her bewildered expression. "I don't think he'd let you use time travel for something so trivial. No offense."

"Well, I borrowed it without him knowing," she admitted.

He scratched his ear, grinning. "I've been there too, you know?" he said coyly. "Is that all you wanted to say?" he asked.

"Yes." She seemed deflate with relief. "I'm going back home now. Er, that is, the year 2021. So don't forget: when MJ and I tell you we want to get married, keep cool, okay?"

"2021?" Marty repeated hollowly, the peculiarity of Tiffany's request finally beginning to sink in. "Wait a minute. Why was I so mad in the future?"

"Ohh, you'll find out in a few decades." She smiled mysteriously as she began to move away from him. "See you later…_much_ later."

"What…" Marty sputtered, watching her retreating back. A dark shadow of suspicion fell over him.

"Hold it," he said, examining the girl under a new light. "Why was I so mad? Or, I mean, why will I be?" He glared at Tiffany, who stopped and suddenly looked worried. "Did you do something?"

"You were in a bad mood, that's all," she replied, shrugging casually. "You liked me. Or at least I thought you did." She sighed.

He stepped closer to her. "Do I know your father?" he began instead. "Or mother, maybe? Ancestor?"

To his surprise, Tiffany's shoulders suddenly slumped—in defeat? Disappointment? "Oh, yeah, you knew my grandfather," she muttered sadly. She continued to inch away, but Marty followed her.

"Who are you?" he pressed. A flash of inspiration crossed his mind. "What's your last name?"

She froze, her face paling rapidly.

"What is it, huh? Shouldn't I know?" he challenged. "You'd better…"

"Hey, don't get upset," she said stiffly. "You don't know me yet."

"My point exactly," he said darkly, glowering at her.

However, to his surprise, Tiffany shuddered and buried her face in the palm of her expansive hand.

Marty suddenly felt a pang of guilt and a jab of sympathy. He reached out to her. "Hey…" he began softly.

"Tanuh," said Tiffany's muffled voice.

Marty stopped. "What?" he asked, confused.

"Tannen," she clarified, pulling away and looking him in the eye. "My last name is Tannen."

"Tannen," he whispered hoarsely, withdrawing his hand and nearly losing his balance as he hastily stepped backward. He breathed heavily as the two stared each other down.

"Tiffany _Tannen_," Marty said again, hardly believing what was happening to him. Then the horror started to sink in. "My son is going to marry a Tannen?!" he exclaimed, a flood of rage threatening to engulf him.

Tiffany winced.

"You _stole_ the time machine!" Marty burst, causing the poor girl to jump in alarm. "What do you want here? Are you going to change something?"

"What? No, of course not!" she insisted.

Marty pretended he hadn't heard. "A Tannen," he said instead, looking disturbed. "My son, dating one of Biff's descendents? After all I've been through with his family? No way." He gave her a critical look. "What are you here for, really?"

"What am I…" Tiffany repeated, sputtering. "You think I'm lying?" she accused angrily. "MJ and I love each other!"

"Huh! Says you," Marty retorted bitterly. "How can I trust you at all?"

"It…you…" Her face darkened to a furious, purple shade. Marty folded his arms.

"I have yet to met my future son. And I'll take his words over some…some Tannen!" he spat. "Go back to your own time!"

Tiffany looked ready to explode. "You know what?" she roared. "You're _exactly_ like your future self! You're both idiots! Damn it! I'm glad MJ isn't like you at _all_!"

As Marty stared at her in disbelief, and Tiffany's hands flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in shock, horror, and surprise.

"I…I…" she stammered, her eyes filling with shameful tears. She quickly turned away.

A terrible feeling of guilt rose up inside of him. Marty clenched and unclenched his hands, unsure of what to do; in the end, he bowed his head and let out a long whoosh of air, as if to release the remainder of his hot, angry feelings. He took a moment to pause and determine his next action.

"Maybe things will be better in thirty or more years," he said lamely after a few tense seconds.

"No…" Tiffany whispered.

"Hey, don't be _too _harsh on yourself," he reassured her hastily. "We'll just have to see when two thousand-whatever rolls around."

"It's these mood swings," she instead complained bitterly. "I'm happy, sad, angry, and now I'm crying. I don't know what's come over me!"

Marty had nothing more to say to that. He remembered Jennifer during these odd days; it had something to do with…ahem…the female's biological system. Or maybe it was something more than that. He had no idea, really.

"You look like him, you know," Tiffany said suddenly, eyeing him strangely. "You look like MJ wearing funny clothes." She sniffed. "I'm doing this for him, you know, but I don't know what to do. I just can't _leave_ yet! I need to get you to _believe_ me." Her eyes suddenly glinted manically. "Maybe…"

Marty blinked in surprise.

"If I can _prove _that my story is true…" she continued. She fingered something in her pocket. Metal scraped against metal. _Car keys._

_I don't like the sound of this, _the musician thought in alarm.

"You've gotta come back with me."

"Out of the question!" he protested immediately.

"I'm not leaving unless you're coming with me," she maintained stubbornly.

Marty scoffed. "No way. It's too dangerous."

"I need to make sure," she insisted. "I don't want everything to turn out the same way as it has, but I don't think this meeting will change anything. The way you reacted earlier…your opinion of Tannens doesn't exactly change in the future, you know? I'm not bad like my grandfather and brother. I know you don't trust me now, but…give me a chance. Let me prove to you that my story is true."

Marty huffed. "There's probably a better way to do that than time-traveling," he said crossly. "And you still haven't told me why I was so angry in the future."

Tiffany's eyes were cold. "You hated Tannens," she whispered.

Marty flinched. _Hate_ was a bit of a strong word. He didn't _hate_ Tannens; he just really, really disliked them. But still…he had to get rid of her. She couldn't stay in the past longer than she had to. Technically he really ought to keep an eye on her, too; he would never forget the last time a Tannen got a hold of the time machine.

He frowned. "What do you mean, 'I hated Tannens'? I got mad at you because of _that_?"

Tiffany looked down, her cheeks pale. "Something like that," she murmured. "I think you time travel some more throughout the years, and I think you run into my other ancestors. They aren't all that great, I tell you. Buford wasn't the worst of the lot."

"But you're saying that you're different," said Marty, but Tiffany didn't respond. He shuffled around furiously for a few minutes, and the woman showed no signs of giving up and leaving.

"All right," he grunted, though something inside him told him that he was really going to regret this. "Just for a few minutes."

**LittleMana**: I sincerely doubt anyone saw this coming.


	6. Tutoring

Chapter 6 — Tutoring

The phone rang. Martin B chose to ignore it, instead staring blankly at the television screen. The back of his mind briefly wondered how anyone could have made it through the phone line if Linda and her boyfriend were still arguing. But was she even in the house anymore? She left, right? When did she do that, again?

The ringing stopped. Martin B dully reached for the remote control. Wasn't there anything _good_ on? He muttered something incomprehensible. Dimly, he remembered that he used to have active brain cells, but the past four hours of stupid programs must've killed them.

He flicked the TV off and shook his head wildly. He rubbed his eyes and slid off the couch. This was ridiculous! He had to do something more intellectual; he had to _think_.

But thinking was impossible. Every time he got his brain working, his thoughts inevitably wandered over the forbidden subject: the current situation between him and his family, his _own_ family.

_What's the truth, then? What was Cecelia really up to all those years? What…_ He groaned and rubbed his temples.

"Marty?" David's voice came from another room in the house.

Martin B paused for a moment, then let out a reluctant "Over here." His 'brother' strode into the living room.

"Phone for you," the office worker grunted, holding out the device.

Martin B hesitated before holding out his hand to receive it. He delicately held the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" he greeted tentatively.

"_Marty!_"

There was a girl on the other line, and she sounded _furious_. Martin B paled.

"Yes?" he said.

"Why are you at home?" she demanded.

He paused. "I was…doing homework?" he guessed.

"We were supposed to study together at the library!" She let out a loud, impatient sigh. "Thanks a lot!"

"The…the library?" Martin B wished David would leave. "Umm, I'll be over really, really soon," he promised.

"No, that's okay," the girl sighed. "I'll go home and study by myself."

"By yourself?" Martin B repeated, unsure whether he should support or oppose this decision. "I can certainly help…" he began cautiously.

Suddenly, David jerked the phone from him.

"He'll be there," the older sibling grunted into the mouthpiece, pressing the off button. Martin B stared at him in shock.

"_Hey!_"

"Hey yourself," David retorted, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. "How could you blow off Jennifer like that? Do you want to end up like Linda and Greg?"

Martin B's mouth opened and closed silently. "I—" he began.

"Well, let's go," David cut him off briskly, striding away. His 'brother' stared at him incomprehensibly. David rolled his eyes impatiently. "What are you waiting for?" he demanded.

"Where are we going?" Martin B asked, puzzled.

"I'm taking you to the library," he replied. "Then, I have to go run some errands."

Martin B stood there frozen for a few seconds, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Panic whirred inside him; furiously, he struggled to come up with a plausible excuse.

"I-I'll drive myself," he stammered, slipping past David and heading to the garage. Much to his dismay, the office worker followed him anyway.

"You don't have to come with me!" he howled indignantly.

"What? Did all that television cook your brain?" David chuckled. "In case you haven't noticed, Linda took _my_ car to Greg's. Since I obviously don't have the keys to _hers_, you, my dear brother, and I have to carpool."

"Carpool?" the time-traveler repeated, paling rapidly. His brain raced furiously as he silently slid into the passenger seat. His 'brother' took the wheel.

"So how long do you think you two will be studying?" David asked, reaching for his seatbelt.

What could he do? What could he do? What _should_ he do? "Couple hours?" he muttered.

The car backed out of the driveway and started down the street. Martin B sunk in his chair sullenly. There was no way for him to escape.

The library. Martin B crept out, not sure which girl he should avoid. He honestly couldn't remember Jennifer Parker's face anymore—it had been _years_, after all. He hoped that Marty M had already arrived and had Jennifer properly distracted at the study tables.

He had no such luck.

"_Finally!_" the girl named Jennifer gasped, rushing up to meet him. Out of the corner of his eye, Martin B could see his 'brother' nodding with satisfaction before gripping the steering wheel and steering the car away. "It's been forty-five minutes!" she continued, exasperated.

"Sorry."

"No—no. It's nothing. We'll just have to work really fast, that's all." She glanced at him curiously. "Where's your stuff?"

"Stuff?" he repeated, bewildered. "Uhh—I didn't bring any."

"_What?_ How are we supposed to study, then?" Jennifer looked more than a little upset.

Martin B nervously shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Well…"

"Never mind. We'll just share." She shot him a scalding look before spinning on her heel and heading to the library entrance. "C'mon."

Nearly twenty minutes into Jennifer's lecture about the American government, Martin B felt himself nodding off. He had to change the subject, quick, or else Jennifer would snap at him for falling asleep. It turned out that Jennifer would beat him to the punch.

"Fine. If you think you know so much about government, I don't think you need my help anymore," she said frostily, closing her book with a snap.

Martin B jerked to attention. "Jennifer…" he protested weakly.

"What?" she snapped.

"I'm sorry. For being late, and everything." He tried to look as sincere as possible.

The coldness in her eyes lessened. "It's not about that anymore, Marty," she explained gently. "It's just that—I'm talking, and you're not listening. Look, I already have a lot to do, and here you are, looking like you're about to fall asleep."

"It's not interesting. I mean—not _you_, of course. The subject."

Jennifer gave him a knowing look. "Then try to, you know, _fake_ interest. Next time." She smiled briefly as she swept her history book of the desk. She then took out her weighty chemistry book and presented it to him. "I need help," she said seriously.

Martin B brightened. Chemistry—_that _was something he could definitely do.

Over half an hour later, Jennifer's dark disposition did a near one-eighty. Beaming, she thanked Martin B for giving her one less thing to worry about next week.

"I was glad…glad to help," Martin B yawned hugely. He spotted something out of the corner of his eye. "Is that a…a calculus book?"

Jennifer made a face. "Yeah. But Christina isn't coming back until the last day of break."

Martin B gave a start. "Christina? As in Brooks?" he sputtered.

Jennifer eyed him curiously. "Yeah. My friend, remember? What is it?"

"Nothin'." The teenager shifted nervously, glancing out the window, and then at Jennifer. Truth was, the poor boy had had a crush on Christina ever since he was in high school; unfortunately, he never had the guts to really talk to her. Too bad his bachelor of a father could not give him any advice regarding the mysterious ways of women! "I can help you with calculus, you know. Since she's not here," he offered.

Jennifer chuckled with amusement. "Thanks, but no thanks. You don't know the stuff either, Marty."

"No, I do." His jaw was set. "Let me show you."

And that was how Jennifer Parker aced not only one, but _two_ of her tests on the week after spring break.

**LittleMana**: All right! Martin B returns.


	7. Trouble in the Future

Chapter 7 —Trouble in the Future

"We're here," said the Tannen finally, much to Marty's relief. They were lurking in some shady back street.

"You…you could've parked the time machine a little _closer_, you know," he huffed, breathing heavily.

"I thought it would be safer if I went on foot," Tiffany explained. "Hill Valley's really changed over the years…" She affectionately patted the hood of a junk bucket.

Marty blinked in surprise. "_That's_ the time machine?" he said incredulously. "Man, even the _hoverboard_ was cooler than that…"

"It's under a holographic disguise," the time-traveler explained tersely.

Marty gave her a blank look.

"Never mind." She waved him away. She fished a small device from her pocket and clicked it. The shiny red sports car of a time machine suddenly materialized, causing Marty to jump back and yelp in surprise.

"Come on, let's go," she said, opening the unfamiliar door for him. "We'd better make this quick."

"I hope you know how to work this thing," Marty muttered, sliding into his seat and shutting the door behind him. His eyes were suddenly dazzled by many strange technologies and blinking lights.

"Speaking of which, you'd better close you eyes," said Tiffany belatedly. "Don't want you looking at things that you shouldn't."

Marty raised an eyebrow, but Tiffany was too preoccupied with the car's many gadgets to notice. The car roared to life, and Marty gripped the armrests. He sunk into his chair.

"Better hold on tight," the driver murmured. "This thing can go from zero to eighty-eight in a _heartbeat_."

Marty turned to her, wide-eyed. "You're not _serious_, right?" he stammered. "I mean, it—"

The world suddenly jerked forward and turned black. The next thing he knew Tiffany was insistently shaking him awake.

"I _better_ not have killed him…" she was whispering worriedly under her breath. Marty shot her a glowering look, and she hastily took her hands off of him.

"What happened?" he groaned, stretching in his chair.

"You fainted," she said, gazing at him solemnly. "I'm sorry that I didn't give you more warning."

Marty felt a twinge of annoyance. "Little late now, though. C'mon, let's get this over with."

Tiffany eyed him with concern. "All right. I'm driving to my place. I guess we don't need to change, since we're not going outside," she added.

_Might as well_, Marty figured as he watched the colorful residents of Hill Valley zoom by._ These people still look like circus performers to me._

Tiffany's house was of a moderate size—two stories and a front and back yard. However, the home overall seemed unnaturally metallic and mechanical; the windows strangely lacked latches. Marty stared as a robot roaming the front yard started yanking up weeds, while another spread grass seeds over the disturbed earth.

"This is, uh, my place," said Tiffany as she climbed out of the car. She shook her head as the wind streamed through her hair. "Man! The weatherman is getting lazy today. When is it going to stop?"

Marty shielded his eyes with his arm as he stepped out of the time machine as well. "Can't we get inside?" he asked hopefully.

Tiffany fiddled with the security pad, and the gate unlocked. "You go first," she said, turning to the time machine to lock it up.

Marty hesitantly crept past the gate and headed for the front door, which was disappointingly un-futuristic. He tried the handle but it was locked. He contently watched the robots roam over Tiffany's front lawn instead.

Tiffany finished with the time machine and locked the gate. She hurried down the path and dealt with the door.

"Still got old-fashioned keys?" Marty observed, amused. "Thought you would have finger pads or something."

Tiffany smiled nervously. "Some things never change," she said, not looking at him. "And besides, not everything's foolproof. Not even in the future." She seemed unnaturally sad about that.

She opened the door. Marty hurriedly peered over her shoulder to take a good look at her tricked-out home but found himself staring at…a metal wall. At first he thought there was some sort of mistake, but then Tiffany pressed her finger on a pad on the side. The 'wall' chirped happily and slid aside. Marty felt faintly annoyed.

Tiffany stared at the inside of her house heaved out a sigh. "This…is my place," she said, gesturing. "You might want to be careful not to touch anything," she added. Marty grumbled.

"I guess I should keep my eyes closed too," he remarked dryly, striding past her. A Tannen was a Tannen, he reminded himself. But still, Tiffany was the most timid one he'd ever met.

The woman in question paused at the door for a moment. "Right," she said, steeling her resolve. "Let's make this quick." She scampered to another room, leaving the musician to his own devices.

The room was arranged in a "let's all sit around the coffee table and watch TV" style. Marty waited about thirty seconds before plunking himself on the couch and reaching for the remote.

_Television._ He toyed with the idea, fiddling with the device in his hand. _That_ couldn't have changed all the much after 30 years, right? Or had it been more than that? He didn't know anymore. He eyed the floor-to-ceiling tall screen. It was sorely tempting; it really was. Sighing, he dropped the remote.

He instead listened to Tiffany hurry around the house. She was either very clumsy or scared out of her wits, because she seemed to be crashing into a lot of things.

"You okay there?" Marty yelled, still feeling a little guilty for the way he had treated her earlier. He eyed the time machine outside.

"What is going _on_ here?" she roared in response. A few minutes later, he could hear her thundering towards him.

She burst into the room, a panicked mess. "We must be in the wrong time," she said breathlessly.

Marty leapt to his feet. "_What_?"

Tiffany ran her fingers through her hair. "Everything's all messed up!" she groaned. "All my stuff's been moved around! I don't know where anything is anymore! And all my things from MJ…" She looked especially mournful. "Gone!"

Marty drew himself up. "Well let's go then! To the future! Or back!" He felt especially apprehensive; he just wanted everything to be done with as soon as possible. The _last_ thing he needed was a paradox at hand, when he already had so many other things to attend to at home—like homework, the upcoming tests, Martin B, and—

"Craaaaap…" he groaned.

Jennifer. Marty hoped she didn't hate him. Or at least too much, if she did already.

"Just one thing; I gotta check," Tiffany said, brushing him aside. She grabbed the remote and clicked on the TV. A picture of a phone appeared.

"Get me Martin McFly Junior. Password: 11121955!" she said firmly to the screen. Marty flinched.

"Hey wait…" he began, his eyes widening.

"He and his friends might've redecorated my home again," Tiffany explained, glancing at the musician sideways. "Like they did on my birthday. But they must've been awfully quick…oh crap!" She wheeled to face him. "You shouldn't be here!"

Marty wasted no time racing past her. The Tannen anxiously watched as he madly dashed over the couch and other obstacles and practically hurled himself into another room. Just in time too, because just as he disappeared, the receiver's blurry image popped on the screen.

The man on the screen glared. "Who are you?" he wheezed, angry. "What are you doing calling my son's private line?"

Tiffany turned and gave a start. "Mr. McFly?" she gasped, paling. "W-Where's…where's MJ?"

Marty, who was hidden in the bathroom, uncomfortably squeezed himself next to the door. The tiles were frigid.

"Who are you?" the forty-something-year-old Marty on the screen repeated. "My son's not here."

The woman shifted awkwardly. "It's me…Tiffany," she said meekly.

"Who?" the older Marty snapped. He squinted at something at the bottom of the screen. "Tiffany? Tannen?" He scowled.

"Mr. McFly? Are you all right?" Tiffany said, bewildered.

The older Marty's face reddened. "Tannen, huh?" He glowered. "I don't know how you got this number, but I better not hear from you again."

"Sir?" she said.

Marty Senior clicked something, and the screen went blank. "Call ended," said the television.

Tiffany stared in shock.

Marty waited for a full twenty seconds before peering around the door. "Tiffany?" he said anxiously.

It seemed to take forever for her to respond, and when she did, she moved as if she were underwater. "What's...going…on?" she whispered.

Marty was in the middle of a dismal shrug when the doorbell rang. The two snapped their heads to look at the door incredulously. Tiffany let out a squawk of disbelief.

"Who the hell would be bothering me _now_?" she groaned, pissed.

"Say you're not home," Marty suggested quickly.

A moment passed and the intercom buzzed. "My client and I are here for an interview," a professional male voice said briskly.

Tiffany said nothing, frozen in her place.

The intercom buzzed again. "Helloooo?" came a new, yet eerily familiar, voice.

Marty's eyes widened.

"_MJ?_" Tiffany whispered.

He nearly had a heart attack.

**LittleMana**: I'm sorry for the day-late update. I was a little preoccupied.


	8. The Journalist's Interview

Chapter 8 — The Journalist's Interview

Tiffany hesitated for a moment before practically making a running leap into the bathroom.

"_Hey!_" Marty hissed indignantly, pressing up against the wall to get out of her way. "What's the big idea?"

"Gotta get ready," she muttered breathlessly, fumbling open a cabinet. She was just about to take out a bottle of makeup when she paused. "I should change first," she realized.

"You're—You're actually going out there?" Marty exclaimed, incredulous. "We gotta leave!" He scrambled to his feet.

"We can learn something from him," Tiffany reasoned, skirting around him and heading out the door. Marty watched her go in disbelief. He heaved out an exasperated sigh and jammed his hands into his pockets.

Tiffany's distant voice was muffled. "We've _already_ screwed up the future, so—"

"Yeah, I know," Marty replied, scuffing his sneakers against the tile floor. "It's just that I didn't want a Goddamn huge _mess_—"

"We'll figure it out somehow," she said tensely.

Marty grumbled. Stupid Tannens. Messing up the timeline even when he kept an eye out for them. Somehow, his future self's cold attitude towards Tiffany wasn't surprising. But that didn't explain why the old man had somehow 'forgotten' about her.

The doorbell rang again. "Hello?" said the dreaded voice through the intercom.

"Argh! Just wait a second!" Tiffany roared. She raced out of the bedroom, now fully clothed in future attire, and charged into the bathroom. Marty watched into bewilderment as she 'sprayed' her face with mysterious ointment to beautify herself. Apparently even the application of cosmetics had vastly improved since the 80's.

Tiffany smoothed out her hair and closed her eyes for a few seconds, calming her breathing. Her shoulders slowly relaxed and her fists unclenched. Marty watched in surprise and amazement as she casually sauntered out of the bathroom and to the front door. She pressed the button on the intercom.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she said in a sweet, yet professional voice. "You're the two o' clock, right? Please come in."

She didn't sound frantic at all. Marty didn't know whether to be impressed or to feel threatened. He'd either have to pick up a few tips from her about stress relief, or keep a close eye out to make sure that his future son was _really_ in love with her.

She pressed a few buttons, and the gate outside buzzed open. As the two men walked across her lawn, she opened the metal door and the old-fashioned one as well.

"Hello!" she chirped, forcing a strained smile.

A pallid, sour-looking man regarded her impassively. His tan, beaming companion flashed her a brilliant smile.

Tiffany paled.

"Hello!" said the tan man again cheerfully. "Nice to see you're finally ready."

Tiffany blinked in surprise. "You're not MJ!" she realized. It was only when the pale man raised an eyebrow did she discover that she had actually expressed that thought aloud.

"Excuse us?" he said in a deadly voice.

Tiffany looked at the tan man. "You're Martin Junior?" she asked.

He grinned. "The one and only!" he boasted proudly, pumping his arms. "Look better in real life than I do in magazines, don't I? 'Course, I don't let those stupid editors do all that Photoshop shit or anything. That's why I'm so overwhelming." He waggled his eyebrows.

"Here're our IDs," said the pale man briskly, showing her the cards. She looked at the cards and at each of the men in turn.

"I'm Tiffany Tannen," she said vaguely, showing them her card. "R-Right. C-Come right in, then," she said. She stepped aside, forcing herself to pretend that she wasn't petrified. The two men entered her house.

"Tannen, huh?" the not-MJ echoed. "Sounds like someone Dad complains about all the time, but God knows if I ever listen to him."

Tiffany flinched.

"Heeeey," the not-MJ continued suddenly. "Do you know anyone named Griff, by any chance?"

The pale man, whose name was Mr. Samuel Undergress and was some kind of legal agent, gave the not-MJ a sharp look. "_Mr. McFly,_" he said in a low voice.

"Oh, right. Business," the not-MJ remembered, apologetic. "Things are really different when you're not on stage, you know?" He gave Tiffany a big grin, which she returned very weakly.

"So? What do you want to know?" said the not-MJ, plunking himself on the couch in a very familiar manner. "How I totally slaughtered the competition this time? 'Cause I can go on and on about that. How long is this gonna be? A half page?"

Tiffany felt overwhelmed. "Well," she began, trying to ignore her sudden unwelcome nausea. "We'll have to get past the legalities first."

The tan man's face fell. "You mean paper work?" he groaned.

"Afraid so," she replied briskly, gathering her journalist things, which were thankfully stacked on a nearby end table. She took out a pair of official electronic contract pads and handed them to the two.

"Thanks," said the not-MJ, taking out his stylus and signing the pad with a flourish. His agent took quite a bit more time examining the electronic contract himself before giving his approval as well.

"It is a half page article. _USA Today_," said Mr. Undergress to the not-MJ, who beamed.

"Toldja," he said triumphantly. He cracked his fingers. "Sooooo…Mrs. Beautiful," he crooned, winking at Tiffany, who had settled herself on the opposite couch. Mr. Undergress glared at him again.

"It's…Ms. Tannen," Tiffany corrected the tan man gently.

The not-MJ seemed undeterred. "What do you want to know?" he said sweetly.

That was then Tiffany realized that she knew nothing about this new MJ. She didn't even know what she was interviewing him for. He still looked like Marty, but drastically less so. He seemed have taken quite a bit more from Jennifer's side.

Meanwhile, Marty, who was still hiding in the bathroom, had the same things running through his mind. However, he didn't know whether his future son's near one-eighty in personality was caused by his and Tiffany's unwitting screw-up, or by the fact that his future self might've taken his promise to not raise his son as a coward a _bit_ too far.

"Talk about how you got started in your career," Tiffany said, phrasing her words carefully.

The not-MJ beamed. "Weeeell…" he began. "I was seven years old when I entered my first talent show…you know, for school and all. Can you believe it? I was a dancer. But it was so much fun; I wanted to go on. It later turned out that I wasn't actually much for dancing; I was more in it for the lights, the excitement, and the _thrill_ of being on stage, the center of attention." He chuckled good-naturedly. "I may have sounded a little pompous saying that, but…I honestly had a lot of fun. People watched me, I did my thing, and we all had a good time."

"And…how long were you…?" Tiffany prompted.

The not-MJ snorted. "How long as it been now? Four, five years?" He nodded to Mr. Undergress. "Well, I've been modeling since I was sixteen."

_Modeling!_

Marty nearly chocked from surprise. His son worked as eye candy? On the covers of magazines and God knows where else? Didn't he inherit any interest in music? Where did he get those good-looking genes anyhow? Marty didn't think himself as much of a looker, but Jennifer sure was pretty. Maybe that's where it came from.

"So that would make it five years," the not-MJ concluded after a bit of thought.

Tiffany smiled encouragingly.

"What else…" the not-MJ muttered. "Oh, I didn't really start _professional_ modeling until I was seventeen, though. One of the directors saw something in me and _bang!_ We just started running with it. And then we entered competition after competition and…you know the rest." He grinned knowingly.

That's when Tiffany felt as if she had been punched in the gut. No, she _didn't_ know the rest. For all she knew, the man she loved was dead. It was as if this loud-mouthed, arrogant idiot was his ghost, rising up to mock her. MJ was gone. Gone, gone, _gone_. She subconsciously placed her hand on her belly. What was she going to _do_?

It had been quiet for a long time. Too long. Tiffany still had an interview to complete. She needed more information from the not-MJ, as much as she disliked talking to him. Maybe he could give her a clue regarding the shift in the space-time continuum. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to look at the not-MJ sprawled on the couch.

"Do tell," she said sweetly, straining a calm expression.

"Eh?" said the not-MJ in surprise.

Tiffany shrugged as nonchalantly as she could. "About you and all of your…achievements. We have a half-page to fill, after all."

"Me, huh?" said the not-MJ, looking like Christmas had come early. "About me and my amazing accomplishments?"

Mr. Undergress looked at his client in alarm. "Mr. McFly, you really shouldn't—"

"Oh, shut up," said the not-MJ, brushing him off.

"—use up all of Ms. Tannen's time like this. Think about what you tell her. What you tell the _rest of California_."

The not-MJ ignored him. "I said _shut up_, chalk-boy. It's not like I haven't done any interviews before. And besides, it's the rest of the _United States_, stupid, not just California. We're doing the _USA Today_."

Mr. Undergress stiffened. "Ms. Tannen?" he said, suddenly getting up and turning to the journalist. "May I please use the facilities for a moment?"

"You mean the _bathroom_?" the not-MJ drawled, leering at the agent.

Marty stood up in alarm. He carefully but quickly crept to the toilet and stepped on top of it. He leaned towards to the wall, where the window, his ticket to freedom, was waiting.

"It's broken," said Tiffany quickly.

"Your toilet's on the fritz? Aww, that sucks," said the not-MJ. "Hey, nothing that ol' _Mr. California_ here can't help out with. Hey chalk-boy! Come write out a check for the pretty lady!"

Mr. Undergress seemed to be reaching his breaking point. "I'm terribly sorry Ms. Tannen," he said with a forced calm. "But it seems that my client here—"

"Hey! You're talking to _Mr. California_ here." The not-MJ looked like he had been robbed of something precious. "And if _I_ say that I want to spread a little love around—"

There was a soft thump as Marty accidently slipped off the toilet.

"What was that?" Mr. Undergress said suddenly. Tiffany leapt to her feet.

"It's probably just…the newspaper…falling off…the toilet?" she ad-libbed, her heart hammering in her chest. "No need, no need…" she said, brushing past him shakily. "I'll check it out."

She hurried into the restroom and flipped on the overhead fan for a good measure. "You okay?" she whispered, concerned.

Marty was crouched near the wall with the window. "Yeah, fine," he hissed. "How the hell do you open the window, anyway? It's got no latches!"

"Well, you don't have to worry about it, because you won't have to go out that way," she reassured him.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "How're you going to kick them out, anyway? All you did was stroke that guy's ego."

Tiffany pressed her lips into a thin line. "Who knows," she said. "I'll find a way. Maybe I'll just get those two to fight."

"Whatever," Marty said, sulking. "I just wanna go back and fix whatever we screwed up."

"You're not the only one," Tiffany sighed. She turned to go.

"Just one more thing," Marty said suddenly. The journalist paused. "My son's not _that_ bad, is he? My real son, I mean."

Tiffany didn't respond at first, so the young McFly thought she hadn't heard him. However, when she turned around, he was surprised to see that tears were in her eyes. "He's nothing like this," she whispered.

Marty looked down. Tiffany wiped her face and steadied herself. She then slipped out the door.

"Hey, do you have the horoscope?" said the not-MJ as soon as she emerged. "I'm a Gemini; I forgot find out what's in it for me today." He gave his agent a significant look. "Though I don't think it could be much worse than a certain _Scorpio_ ruining everything for me."

"Mr. McFly," Mr. Undergress said tersely.

"It was last week's issue," Tiffany said smoothly, though something that the not-MJ said triggered an alarm inside her head. She settled herself on the couch again, thinking fast.

"A Gemini, huh?" she prompted sweetly, crossing her legs. "That's fitting."

The not-MJ appeared taken aback. He scratched his head, bewildered.

"You know, you and your sister," Tiffany continued.

"Sister?" he echoed. Mr. Undergress glanced at her briefly.

Tiffany fell silent. MJ and Marlene were twins, but apparently Marlene didn't exist anymore. She felt a pang of guilt.

"When's your birthday?" she asked politely, after a slight pause.

The not-MJ cocked his head coyly. "June 20," the he replied, grinning. "And if I had this week's paper, I'm gonna bet that I had a lovely lady in my horoscope."

Mr. Undergress was too exasperated to even react to that comment. Tiffany, however, had gears churning rapidly in her mind.

"That's nice," the journalist remarked neutrally. She laced her fingers together. "So. Back to the interview," she prompted.

The tan man beamed. "So I get to talk on and on about all the stuff I've done, right?" he said excitedly. "No time limit?"

That gave Tiffany an idea. "Well, the contract gives you until 2:30," she said slowly, glancing at the clock. It was 2:25. "But I can give you another one to give you more time."

"Eh?" the not-MJ grunted in surprise, twisting around to look at the clock as well. "Five minutes? That's not enough at all!"

"Then I need you and your agent to sign again," said Tiffany, rising from her seat and retrieving the electronic pads. She knew that she was taking a great risk, but she decided to push it. "I can extend it to a extra full hour instead, if you'd like."

"An hour! I'd have to talk fast!" the not-MJ exclaimed. "C'mon, chalk-boy. Let's hurry up and sign this thing!" He snatched the pad from Tiffany's hands and forced it on his agent.

Mr. Undergress looked furious. "I will _not_," he said firmly, refusing to take the contract.

The not-MJ scowled. "What was that?" he growled dangerously. "You're _not_?"

"I will not," the agent repeated firmly. "I feel that it is my duty as your agent to prevent you from embarrassing yourself even more, Martin Junior."

This seemed to work the tan man into a rage. "_What!_ _Embarrassing?_ You're not my mother, Mr. Underpants!" he roared, looking ready to launch himself at his agent and grapple with him on the living room floor.

"I can reschedule," Tiffany interjected hurriedly. "Since this seems to be quite a bad time for the two of you. I won't publish anything."

Mr. Undergress looked angry and relieved at the same time. "I'd better have that in writing," he threatened, turning to the journalist.

"What? You're not publishing?" said the not-MJ, giving Tiffany a devastated look.

"Not yet," Tiffany corrected the tan man. "Next Sunday at three o' clock? That's my next opening. And yes, I will have it in writing," she added to Mr. Undergress.

The not-MJ made a series of dissatisfied grunts. The red slowly faded from the agent's cheeks. Tiffany took out a legal document and fulfilled her promise.

"Thank you," said Mr. Undergress, politely taking the document and looking much calmer. "And yes: three o' clock next Sunday is fine."

He turned to the tan man. "Come, Mr. McFly. We're leaving," he said. He headed towards the door. The not-MJ fumed.

"You know, I _hate_ my mom for hiring you," he complained, eventually stomping after him. The agent opened the door and exited, and the not-MJ paused to give Tiffany one last half-hearted wink. Then, he walked outside as well and slammed the door behind him.

Tiffany didn't move until she saw the two pass the gate, get into the car, and drive away. Then, she collapsed onto the couch.

**LittleMana**: See, now this chapter is a day early. Happy Thanksgiving!


	9. The Problem with Tannens

Chapter 9—The Problem with Tannens

The bathroom door slowly squeaked open. Marty poked his head out and hesitantly looked around.

"Hey," he said to Tiffany quietly.

Tiffany was lying on her back on the couch, one hand over her eyes and the other on her stomach. She didn't reply.

Marty regarded her silently. He really, really wanted to leave right away, but he figured he should let the poor young woman get some rest. But on the other hand (he winced), it was sort of all her fault.

What _had_ he and Tiffany done to screw things up so badly? They didn't talk to anybody or touch anything. Marty frowned. The only thing he figured went wrong was his study date with Jennifer. Did she get so angry that she decided to break up with him? After all, the not-MJ never mentioned who his mother was. But he definitely looked like Jennifer, so Marty scratched that out. Maybe the canceled study date doomed Jennifer's chemistry grade, making her re-take the class and…no, none of that made sense at all. What if Marty _himself_ got screwed over because he hadn't studied with Jennifer? That seemed a bit more plausible…but no matter what grades they got or classes they re-took, Marty and Jennifer still ended up together. But somehow their children were different. Why were they different?

Marty was just arguing himself into a circle. He flopped himself down on the couch and stared intently at the coffee table, memorizing the pattern carved into the wood. What the not-MJ said earlier may or may not have been helpful at all—he had to rely on Tiffany on that matter. He didn't want to talk to her about his son because he didn't want to know _too_ much about the future. He needed somebody else to talk to Tiffany, somebody who could understand time travel but not be a threat if he knew too much about the fu—

"Oh shit. Martin!" Marty gasped, eyes widening. He straightened up, snapping his head to look at the sleeping Tiffany. Did _Martin_ do something to change the future? But he had hardly gone outside! And what effect would his brief influence have on Jennifer and Marty's future children?

The journalist stirred. "Wha?" she murmured, turning her head to face him.

"There's something I forgot," Marty said tensely. "I forgot to mention him earlier; I'm sorry, it slipped my mind when you showed up and scared the shit out of me."

"What is it?" the young woman asked, curious.

"Martin Brown," Marty said seriously. He shifted in his seat to face her better. "He's an alternate version of me who's fallen in our universe."

Tiffany paused. Then she frowned. "An alternate version? _Brown?_" she repeated, bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

Marty briefly explained. Tiffany rubbed her head. "When did this happen?"

"More than a week ago," he replied. "He's been living in Doc's garage, but I let him camp out at my house for a while."

This seemed to greatly interest Tiffany. She stretched and started to sit up. "How come I've never heard of this?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

Marty gave her a matter-of-fact look. "Well, when you showed up and said that you wanted to tell me something important—"

"No, not that. I mean from MJ," she said, rubbing her forehead. "He's told me a million time-travel stories. How come he's never mentioned this one?"

Marty fainted wondered just how many stories his future son told her. He glanced at the time machine outside, thinking of the DeLorean. Sounded like he and the time machine were going to have a _lot_ of adventures together. He felt a mixture of excitement and dread.

"The reason why I visited you during spring break was because I thought you weren't busy," Tiffany admitted. "If I knew you had all that shit going on, I would've picked a better time."

Marty snorted. "Couldn't have been helped," he said. "Who knows, maybe it just slipped _his_ mind too. You could just ask him later, I bet."

Tiffany dropped her hand to her side and silently gazed at the floor.

"Don't worry, we'll figure this out," Marty reassured her. "And when we go back, we'll have Martin on our side! It'll be like having Doc with us."

The journalist frowned. "When you mean Martin_ Brown_," she said at length, "do you mean he's related to Doc?"

"Yep," said Marty, nodding. "He's another version of me, but he's Doc's kid. It's a long story, though. Super smart. In college."

Tiffany furrowed her brow. "But if he's Doc's kid, how can he be you?" she asked.

Marty waved her off. "We'll talk about this later. Let's just go back. You ready?" He got to his feet.

"Yeah, I'm with you," she grunted, getting to her feet as well. "But you gotta let me change, first."

Marty eyed her wearily. "Might wanna pick different clothes," he said, suddenly remembering his first awkward days in the Old West. He wondered if MJ had told her about that as well.

"Got nuthin' else," Tiffany said, shrugging.

After she finished changing, Marty and Tiffany exited the house, locked everything up, and slid into the time machine. Marty buckled himself in very securely. Tiffany, on the other hand, gripped the steering wheel for a long time but did not turn on the car. Marty, impatient, was about to ask her what was the hold up when he felt the air start to grow heavy.

"Marty?" she said suddenly, not looking at him. Marty blinked in surprise.

Her shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry…I messed things up," she said slowly, in a quiet voice. "I don't know what I did, but I'm new to time travel. It's like when I tried to call MJ earlier and you had to run away—"

"Tiffany," Marty said firmly. She paused for a moment and pursed her lips.

"I…I shouldn't have taken the time machine," she continued. "I shouldn't have contacted you; I should've just dealt with your older self like a grown woman. In fact, I've stolen the time machine and messed up history again...just like everybody else in my family has."

"Tiffany," Marty said again, exasperated. "I don't hate Tannens because they steal things and screw up the future; I hate them because they're bullies and cheats. But you're not like any Tannen I've ever met." _At least not the three I know so far_, he added mentally, thinking of Buford, Biff, and Griff. But perhaps he would run into many more later.

"And…when I look at you," he added, figuring that he needed to explain himself further. "I can't help but think of Biff, and the way he pushed my father around all his life. 'Course, that was before I…messed things up with the time machine…" He looked apologetic. "The thing is…I just can't forget what Biff's done to my family, how he messed things up once. And all that shit that went down in that evil, alternate 1985? (MJ told you all about that, right?) I just can't let that go right away."

Tiffany looked away. Marty sighed, wondering what to do next. He glanced at the floor.

"You remember the fake-MJ and his agent?" he suddenly said brightly. "You handled those assholes so well. Griff—he's your brother, right?—would have just beat the lights out of the both of them."

Tiffany sniffed. It took her a while to answer. "I wouldn't have done anything like that. I'm a girl," she said softly.

"Yeah, but you could've used your killer robots or something, you know," Marty retorted. "But hey—you used your words, not your fists."

Tiffany smiled weakly. "I'm a girl," she said again. "And if I threw them out, I'd lose my job."

Marty looked at her incredulously. "Oh, so you're different from your brother and all the other Tannens just because you're a girl? You didn't get this job as a journalist for no reason, you know. It's an honest, clean living—you got what you deserved."

The journalist looked at him with sad eyes. "You don't even know me," she said, faintly amused.

The musician huffed. "Hell no. But I _do_ know that you're big enough to flatten me. But I'm still alive." He grinned sheepishly. "That's a big plus in my book."

Tiffany just stared at him. She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't exactly frowning either.

Marty's smile faded from his face. "Okay, so I've just met you," he amended. "All I know for sure is that you can get weird-ass mood swings, but I don't think you're some sort of deceiving actress."

The young woman smiled at him faintly. "Calming myself is part of the job," she explained. "Some of my interviewees are real jerks. I have to control myself."

The teen felt faintly annoyed. "Look," he said sharply. "I dunno if you really love my son and all, but who knows? I haven't even met my kid yet. But you don't have to worry about it," he added hastily, noticing her disappointed expression. "'Cause I've figured that you can't be all that bad, 'cause you've got a good job and a clean living so far. You're not anything like your relatives. So…I guess if my son said that he that he loved you, and that he wanted to marry you, IguessI'dbeallrightwiththat," he finished in a rush.

Tiffany blinked slowly, taking her time to decipher his words. Then her eyes widened with disbelief.

_I guess I'd be all right with that._

Then she turned to the steering wheel, a giddy grin slowly spreading across her face.

There was a long moment of silence. Finally, Tiffany broke it by starting the car.

Marty sighed in relief. The young woman gave him an amused look.

"Did you say all that just to get me to drive the time machine?" she teased, still grinning broadly. "Or did you really mean that? It didn't sound that easy to do."

He answered her with a silent look of sullen agreement.

Tiffany chuckled. "You and you son are a lot alike, you know," she said thoughtfully. She eased the car into the street. "I could've sworn it was him talking to me."

Marty shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "Well, I was sorry for yelling at you," he said.

Tiffany smiled. "Don't worry about it," she said easily. "My brother has given the Tannens an especially cruddy reputation around Hill Valley. I've heard it all before. It was hard for me to get a job, even."

Marty scowled, looking out the window. On the inside, though, he felt quite relived.

"Your son frowns like that too," Tiffany added.

He snorted.

--

Marty and Tiffany returned to the library parking lot again; however, since they didn't want to risk running into their past selves or traveling through time in a different, but more populated area, they were almost two hours late for Marty's study date with Jennifer. Marty told Tiffany to hide out in Doc's old garage if he didn't return in fifteen minutes.

Tiffany nodded, retreating into the shadows when Marty rounded the corner. The teen did not spot Jennifer through any of the windows of the library, and was just about to grab then the handle to the public institution's front door when the sudden blare of a familiar car horn nearly knocked him off his feet.

"_Marty!_" David roared, sticking his head out the driver side window.

Marty stared at him, wide-eyed.

"_D-Dave_?" he stuttered shakily, feeling like he had just been doused in a pool of ice cold water.

His brother faked a look of hurt. "What's _that_ for, huh? Jennifer kick your ass? Don't tell me you didn't deserve it!" he said.

Marty gaped at him, his head spinning. "What are you _talking_ about_?_" he demanded. His heart was hammering in his chest. "What are you _doing_ here?"

The office worker rolled his eyes. "I'm taking you home, dumbass!" he replied. "Geez, you really are something else today!"

Marty's mouth went dry. He didn't budge. Impatient, David banged the horn.

"Come on, let's go!" he yelled.

Marty pried his sneakers from the sidewalk and ambled to the driver side window very slowly. "How'd you know I was here?" he said, craning his head to look up at his brother.

David stared at him incredulously. "What's that supposed to mean?" he said instead.

Marty frowned. "What are you doing in my car?" he added, tickled with annoyance.

The office worker frowned and gave him a look that signaled complete incomprehension.

"Marty—did you hit your head or something?" he said, sounding a little concerned.

Marty scowled. He glanced over his shoulder to take another look at the library. Perhaps Jennifer was not there after all.

David looked up. "What's that?" he wanted to know, curious.

Marty shook his head. "Nothing," he shrugged. He staggered around the car, reluctantly clambered into the passenger seat, and slammed the door behind him.

"So what's the verdict?" David asked briskly.

Marty bristled. "Huh?" he grunted tensely.

David grinned knowingly. "Jennifer dump you for almost standing her up at the library?"

The musician paused, taking this in.

"_WHAT?_" he exclaimed.

**LittleMana**: Marty's got it tough.


End file.
